The Kissed
by girl8next0door8
Summary: Fred/George w/ OCs. Months after the fall of Voldemort, an ominous fog settles in the whole of London. George Weasley meets an unlikely Muggle who might just hold the answer to the mysterious, rising darkness.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The fog comes  
on little cat feet.

It sits looking  
over harbor and city  
on silent haunches  
and then moves on.

- _The Fog_ by_ Carl Sandburg_

Pearl Fearnley woke up with a start. "What?"she gasped out loud. She blinked quizzically at her surroundings and remembered where she was. And _when_ she was. She breathed a sigh of relief and shook her head. "'What?!'" she echoed, mocking herself. The thought of her dreaming about it again was absolutely pathetic.

She rolled over to her right and curled up in a ball. Six years. Or maybe seven? It might just be seven already since then. Pearl looked out the French doors that lined her right wall and wondered why she should dream of it tonight, of all nights.

She stared at the lamppost outside as she tried to recall everything she did today. Finally, Pearl felt sleep creep upon her. She let it take over, to consume the last few dredges of nostalgia weighing heavily on her chest.

It was then, when her eyes just about fluttered closed, that she noticed the lights of her Charmed crystal curtains flicker slightly. Outside, the lamppost's light wavered, too. She sat up and frowned. "Something's not right," she whispered. She vaguely remembers a story of orphans and a nun who loved them like her own. Recalling bedtime stories and a half-a-decade-old row on the same night? Pearl thought that perhaps her mum was right. She needed to visit home more often. She sighed and wished it were that easy.

It was then that all the lights went out and a familiar yet frightening cold quickly enveloped her. Her heart skipped a beat.

"No," she gasped. "No!"

Pearl rolled to the left side of her bed and grabbed her wand sitting on the night table. Quickly, she sat up and aimed it at the surrounding darkness. Tears dropped on her cheeks and trickled down her quivering chin. If they were here, then it only meant one thing.

He was gone.

The next few seconds moved so slowly and the night air had the stench of death. Pearl sobbed with both fear and sorrow as she inhaled the reeking odor and stumbled out of her bed. She never thought it would end this way.

A strong gust of wind blew open the French doors and shattered the glass. They rained mercilessly on Pearl's left arm that she held up to shield her head.

She screamed but kept her head down and her eyes closed. She didn't need to look. She knew they were there. She _felt _them, along with the sting of broken glass that sliced into her skin.

She hated them. They were the only things that scared her so she was perfectly familiar with how they made their presence known. And at that moment, she knew exactly where one of them lingered.

Pearl raised her wand straight ahead where she just heard that sharp, rattling breath. She recalled the last time she saw him. So handsome and optimistic. For a moment, she thought she heard him laugh. A smile touched her lips.

Then, she inhaled deeply and finally spoke, her tone calm and steady and brave.

"Expecto Patronum."


	2. One

**One**

George Weasley woke up to a spinning world, tilted slightly towards the left. His mouth was dry. His palate pulsed in synch with the grand headache that just about began in his temples. He badly needed a drink of water.

He nearly hit his head against the whole Bulgarian Quidditch team whose poster was plastered on the low, sloped ceiling above the bed. He looked around and saw Crookshanks napping in a corner. Yes, he was definitely in Ron's room.

"Hullo Crookie," George mumbled at the cat languorously stretched on his tiny bed. "Mum's still in Australia?" Crookshanks gave a snobby mew but followed him out the door.

Voices wafted up from the kitchen below. George scratched his one good ear and counted three gentlemen (his father, Bill and Charlie) and Ginny who must be talking through the fireplace.

He glanced out the window. "Blimey," he said. Nothing was visible past the empty clotheslines running in zigzags across the back garden. "I overslept again, eh Crookie? But at least I'm early for supper." He started down the stairs.

"Am I the only one who sees how dangerous this is?!"

"Charlie—"

"There's a huge mass of them near St. Mungo's at this very moment. Can't we at least do something about that."

George looked down at Crookshanks. "Have they been like this a while? Why didn't you wake me?"

Forgetting his thirst, George found himself a nice cozy spot to eavesdrop in scullery. He set himself between the wall that separated the small room from the kitchen and the rusty old mangle. Crookshanks followed suit.

"We have to send a small group of Aurors to guard the place."

"Kingsley won't hear of it," George heard his father reply. "Besides, Harry cannot spare anymore. Everyone's busy with the fixer-uppers."

"Settling people down, putting things just the way they are," nodded Charlie. "I know, Dad. But how do you restore people's confidence in the Ministry with dementors running amok? Just look at this fog, they're breeding out of control!"

"But nobody's been Kissed," Bill pointed out.

"So we first wait for someone to get hurt before doing anything? That's bloody brilliant!"

"That only says they can be handled by _anyone_, Charlie," Bill said calmly. "So we have a little fog. Weather's always been this dodgy. Obviously, the dementors are more of a nuisance than a real problem. After all, only under aged wizards can't produce a Patronus charm."

"We need to investigate this matter," insisted Charlie. "Why, after Voldemort's been months gone, are they still out of the Ministry's control?"

"You can investigate it for us," Arthur said matter-of-factly. "And we will gladly accept all the information you give us."

"But I will need help, Dad!"

"I told you—"

"Not the Aurors then. Let's keep it small first then move up from there. Just us. The Order."

"Yes, the Order, of course," Arthur replied uncomfortably. "But as it is Charlie, most of us are occupied."

"Harry and Ron are helping to draw the people out in Wales, Hermione's still in Australia," Ginny said. "I'd love to help but I don't get to leave school 'til next week."

"Neville's in South America doing research for Professor Sprout, Luna's practically everywhere as she's writing for her father," Bill droned and George imagined him ticking off his fingers as he did so. "Fleur has her hands full with Victoire and Teddy, Percy's busy at the Ministry—"

"—like the rest of you are—"

"—reuniting people with their families—"

"—most of whom are dead—"

Bill slammed his fist down the table. "Reuniting nonetheless! It's what these people need after such tragedy. They deserve to be with the people they love, dead or alive! Not to worry about something so bloody trivial, like dark creatures spreading fog!"

There was a long silence. Only the crackling fire from where Ginny's head remained, probably with eyes unblinking, was audible.

"Trivial," Charlie finally said. George heard a wooden stool scrape noisily across the floor and topple over. "Right. Since none of you will help, I'll round up a group who will."

It took a second for George to remember that he will be very visible to everyone in the kitchen as soon as Charlie opens the door. He quickly scrambled out of the scullery and into the narrow hallway just across him.

"Crookshanks!" he whispered angrily at the cat whose claws have latched on the end of his pyjamas. "Sod off, you dunderhead!"

The kitchen door slammed open. Charlie stormed out, followed by pleading calls from their sister and father. He headed straight for the staircase and was already on the second flight of steps when he noticed George struggling with Crookshanks below.

"George?" Charlie asked, peering into the dark hallway, his long red ponytail dropping by the side of his face. "Is that you?"

"Sshhh!" he called back after successfully prying off the huge cat before it stripped him down to his knickers.

The older Weasley shook his head and sighed. George jogged up the stairs and followed his brother into his room.

"You missed another Order meeting."

"Oh don't worry, I heard everything. Including your little dementor tirade with Bill." George nodded at the direction of the kitchen. "I think he won that one, Charlie. He really packed it in."

"That wasn't the meeting."

"No?"

"If you went as often as you're supposed to, you'd know that we hold all Order meetings at Grimmauld Place," Charlie said, exasperated. He reached over and smacked his brother behind the head. "Pissed again, aren't you? Do you know what that does to Mum and Dad?"

George rubbed at the stinging area and muttered incomprehensibly.

Charlie walked over to a wide oak table stacked with scrolls. "Look at you." He took one scroll and opened it, revealing a black and white map of London plotted with blue dots. "When was the last time you shaved?!"

"Won't stand for this, you know? I'm too old for scolding." George stood up and headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Look, no idea how you do things back in Romania, but here in jolly England, we cure a hangover with a pint or two," said George flippantly. "I'm off to Lee's then."

"No you're not!" exclaimed Charlie. "You stay here and show Mum you're still alive!"

"Why don't you just tell her you saw me?!"

"She'd rather see you for herself," he replied as he took out his traveling coat from his closet.

George snorted at the sight of his brother's leather ensemble. "Reckon you do some dementor-hunting in style, Charlie?"

"I'm serious, George. Mum misses you."

"It's just _one _pint! I'll be back before supper! Bloody hell, I don't even live here anymore."

"Yet you somehow wind up here every time you're pissed."

"Do you want me to yell for Dad and Bill?"

"Okay, okay. How about I come with you?" He glanced at the map on the table. "To Surrey?"

Charlie frowned. "What?"

"Look, you did say you need help on this dementor problem. _I _will help you," George suggested. "For a pint."

Charlie frowned. "You'll join me?"

"Ah, just for tonight. It is _just_ a pint," George quickly set straight. "We go to Lee's, search Surrey for the dark, purveyors of fear then go home before supper—everyone's happy, _especially _Mum." He grinned.

Charlie looked thoughtful but eventually conceded. "All right."

"Brilliant!"

"But we go to Surrey _first_," he added. "Won't have you skiving off your end of the bargain."

George's expression soured. "Didn't Mum teach you to yield to your younger brothers?"

Charlie shook his head. "Nah, I think that was Bill." He crossed his arms. "So? Are you coming or do I let Dad know you're here?"

George sighed and pointed at Charlie's coat. "Do you have anymore of those?"


	3. Two

**Two v. 2**

Ivy Chittenden was cold. Wrapped like a burrito in 3 blankets and one comforter, the young lady managed to hop ten feet towards the ancient-looking machine jutting out of her living room wall. From underneath the layers of sheets, her pyjama-ed leg emerged, giving it a strong kick.

"Damn… radiator!" she cursed as she proceeded to give it another kick. For a moment, there was nothing. Then when she was about to serve its third beating, the radiator hummed back to life. Ivy sighed with relief. She was eager to go back to eating her very late dinner of onion soup and extra crusty bread in front of the TV.

She had the flat all to herself today. Her roommate was out on one of those rare occasions to have dinner with a bunch of friends, and it was her day off tomorrow. Meaning one day of not having to chop, bake, slice, fry, and baste or flambé in a very, very hot kitchen.

"Mmm," she said out loud. "Good job on the soup, Ivy." So she had nothing in the fridge and pantry but bread and onions but that's why she was in the restaurant business in the first place— because she can practically magic food from thin air. And it's not just any kind of food but bloody good food. Her weekend need not be ruined by an empty stomach on the last day of the work week.

"Hey."

Ivy practically jumped out of her cocoon of blankets in shock. Karla, her roommate, was home early.

"Bloody hell, it's even colder here than outside," Karla remarked as she closed the front door behind her. She hung her long black coat on the rack. "What happened?"

"The radiator caved about half an hour ago. I just about got it moving," explained Ivy. "Say, I thought you were going out tonight?"

Karla shrugged. "I can hardly see past my nose in that fog. Took a rain check instead."

"Oh. But I thought you said you missed your friends?"

"Honestly, I don't feel like seeing them for another week or so," Karla rolled her eyes. "You got anymore of that soup?"

Ivy pointed her in the direction of the pot on the stove. As her roommate turned her back, she sighed quietly into her bowl. Karla, while nice enough, was too depressing to have around. Recently, the girl has taken to liking moody, whiny music that she likes playing loudly from her room. They might live in posh St. John's Wood, but their building is one of the rare antiquities of Westminster. It might be delightfully old from the outside but inside, they were all wheezing radiators and paper thin walls.

"By the way, I didn't know you had a pet," said Karla as she sliced herself a piece of bread.

"Pet?"

"That owl perched on your bedpost?" Karla pointed out, glancing in at Ivy's half-open bedroom door.

Ivy nearly choked on her soup. "Wha-at?!" She scrambled to her feet but instead of running straight for her room, she dove behind Karla's back. "Are you bloody seriooous?!"

"What's with you?"

"I hate birds! I don't have an owl! Oh if this is a prank, Karla!"

"I don't pull pranks, Ivy," her roommate commented dryly. "Yes, see. It's perched on your headboard now."

Ivy managed to push Karla nearer her room. She peeked over her shoulder. True enough, there was a large, blue-grey owl nipping its wing from atop her bed. "How did it get in here?!"

"Must've been through one of the windows. We definitely have to bring it up with the super—oh. It saw my bread."

Ivy screamed just as the owl swooped into the living room and grabbed the bread from Karla's hands. Then, it dropped a small parcel right on their coffee table and rested there while it gobbled on the bread.

"Oh! Grossss!" Ivy cried. "Sh-shoo!"

"Shoo," Karla added, more annoyed than disgusted.

The owl only hooted at them, perhaps insulted at the gesture. It flew up again and finally exited through one of their open transom windows. As soon as it disappeared in the thick fog outside, Ivy ran for the window and quickly shut it tight.

"Owl," she gasped, still clearly in shock. "Owl," she repeated, this time an odd look passed on her face, the type one gets when they realize something. Or _remember_ something.

Karla picked up her bowl from the counter. "Tell your friends to do you a favor and use FedEx next time. Seriously, bird posts are ancient and abusive of animals' rights." She raised her bowl. "Thanks. I'll be in my room."

Slowly, Ivy turned around and looked at the envelope like it carried a fatal disease. She edged towards her supper and read the writing on the envelope on top of the parcel. Her throat tightened. She couldn't believe what she saw.

_Ivy Chittenden_

_#8 Magnolia Crescent_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

It was her name written atop an address she had long since left. As she reached for the envelope, she caught a glimpse of the dark skies and heavy fog through their half-open windows.


	4. Three

**Three**

George hovered lazily over Surrey in his broomstick, amusing himself with a tiny ball which glowed in the dark and changed its color every time you threw it in the air. It was a prototype of a new Wheezes product which has yet to be funny. He was running possible clinchers in his head when Charlie suddenly zoomed in from his left.

"Seen one yet?" Charlie asked, flitting anxiously about, his long dark coat flapping in the air.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Listen, would you buy this ball? If not, what do you think it lacks?"

"There have been more than a dozen eyewitness accounts of dementors attacking Muggles in this area. That's in a span of a day, George. I'm positive that we'll catch a good crowd of hostile ones tonight."

"Yeah, okay. That's great. Seeing as we've been here for over two hours. But Charlie—"

"No, you're right. We have to make most of our time. And I think we should fly lower. You stay here and I'll go nearer Kent. Signal me when you spot one."

Without waiting for his brother's reply, Charlie flew off. George rolled his eyes but obediently drew down his height. Lights from below were a lot more visible now although the fog is still thick.

"Well, well, we-ell," muttered George as he peered down. "Little Whinging. You still look the same."

He threw his ball up in the air, only it was a little higher this time.

"Whoops," he said, failing to catch it by mere inches. The tiny sphere blinked into a cerulean blue then quickly fell through the fog.

George watched it for a moment. "Why you look like one of those beacons they use in sea," he remarked. He grabbed the handle of his broomstick and sped down to follow it.

"Woo-hoo!" he cheered as he finally caught the ball. In his hands, it blinked into an angry red color. Then, it turned black.

George frowned. "That's strange. Thought I made this glowing all the time."

A stench of death and cold suddenly wafted past him. George swallowed hard as he saw not one but two dementors flying past him and down into the awaiting village. Quickly, he stuffed the ball in his pocket and took out his wand.

"Come on," he muttered, waving his wand in the air to signal Charlie. He thought it odd that the dementors didn't attack him when they were so near. But perhaps they were more attracted to the number of people there were below. Muggle people, to be exact.

Tiny red sparks suddenly flew from his wand and into the air. George hoped that was enough as he sped down to follow the dark creatures. Lately, his wand hasn't been up to speed. He made a mental note to drop by Ollivander's that week.

It was only when he was a mere 10 feet away from the rooftops did Little Whinging finally come into view. George nearly ran himself into a tree. Fortunately, he maneuvered his broomstick in time. He spotted the dementors flying towards Magnolia Crescent.

Again, he thought it strange that their attack was so specific. By now they should've latched on to the nearest Muggle home. And they were flying at an unusual speed, too. "Picky AND hungry," George muttered as he stepped up speed on his broomstick. "Charlie would love to see this."

The dementors were still up a good ten blocks when he saw them dive into a house.

"What the bloody hell are they up to?"

George didn't find the house until ten minutes later. Still a bit wavering drunk, the identical houses confused him. Plus the house itself didn't look occupied. #2 Magnolia Crescent with pebble-dashed walls was dark, the front lawn overgrown and covered with dead leaves. The front door was wide open.

He landed on the front steps and rushed inside.

"Hello!" he called into the empty house. "Is anybody here?"

Only a soft, gurgling noise came as a reply. He ran deeper into the house, towards the back where he thought he heard it.

He found the dementors in the kitchen, surrounding a young woman lying crumpled on the cold, tiled floor. One of them was about to administer the Kiss.

'_Happy thoughts, happy thoughts!'_

"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, aiming his wand at the culprit. But there was nothing. "Expecto Patronum!"

The second began heading towards him. From the corner of his eye, he saw the young woman already on her back, eyes wide open and about inches away from the dementor. He ran to her. Somehow he had to put himself between the girl and the creature.

"No!" he cried. "Expecto Patronum!"

A tiny wisp of silver flew out of his wand and towards the dementor. George was successful in that the first dementor's attention was now turned to him. But he had yet to completely chase it off with a proper Patronus. The young woman groaned and turned to her side.

"Wake up!" he shouted. "Do you hear me? Wake up! You have to get out of here!"

Ugly yet familiar cold began seeping in from his extremities. The first dementor was now upon him, but he could not see it anymore. Its figure has been replaced with images of chaos, a flash of green and his body slowly falling on rubble-covered ground.

George was frozen in place. His wand clattered on the floor but sounded like it came from far away. He fell to his knees and felt his energy slip. Darkness began to consume him.

Then, a voice from the same, far flung place spoke.

"Expecto Patronum."

A large, hoary dragon suddenly occupied the entire kitchen. From its mouth it blew silver-shite fire towards the two dementors and chased them away from George and the young woman.

"Send them back to Azkaban," the voice ordered.

With another fiery breath, the dragon drove the dementors away from the house and into the streets. Then it stretched out its magnificent wings and flew into the sky, the dark creatures caught in its teeth.

The voice spoke again. "George? Are you all right?"

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Before he completely fainted, he remembered feeling a tingling on where one of his ears used to be.


	5. Four

**Four**

Ivy knew she had her eyes closed. But even with one of her senses temporarily ceased, she was aware of everything else—her back and how it was lying on cold and wet grass, the dull ache in her temples, her slow breathing. She was aware of everything except for time and place.

She squeezed her eyes tightly. Slowly, her last whereabouts came trickling back. She remembered locking up her flat, talking to her landlady about the broken transom, getting late lunch on the way to the train station.

'_Train station_,' she thought. Of course. She had set that afternoon for a long commute to Surrey. It didn't take her long to figure out who the parcel was from even if it were unsigned. The owl, the poem, the handwriting, even the tiny bag of chocolate tablets: it was Pearl. Finally, after all these years, she was speaking to her again.

The pain in her temples suddenly turned into a neck cramp and Ivy groaned at the discomfort.

"I think she's awake."

"Good. Miss? Can you hear me?"

Her eyes fluttered open. It was still dark but nearby a lamp post was lit. It helped bring the two faces hovering above her into focus.

"My neck hurts," she muttered.

"George, help me sit her up," one of the faces said.

Slowly, she was lifted into a sitting position. She realized she was sitting in the middle of an unkempt backyard that seemed quite familiar. To her right was a house.

That was when everything else came back to her.

The empty house surrounded in thick fog. The strange sensation of cold and sadness descending upon her. The angry voices of her parents. Then, the bearded young man with wild red hair waving a stick.

'_Not a stick,'_ she thought as another freight train of memories, much older this time, barraged her mind. _'Not a stick, but a—wand!'_

A barrage of words and memories came like a freight train, suppressing her words and comprehension. Wands. Magic. Owls. And these two young men in front of her must be wizards. Wizards! From a few metres away, something hovering a few feet off the ground caught her eye. Two uniquely styled broomsticks. Bloody hell.

"Y-you… I…" she began.

"Now, don't strain yourself. Here, eat this."

Ivy looked at the dark brown sliver of something sitting in the palm of the one with the ponytail.

"I know it's not top of the line but it'll do the trick. Go on."

She popped it into her mouth. Slowly, warmth began taking over her body. As it did, her mind woke up some more. She turned towards the pale, bearded young man. "You helped me, didn't you?"

He didn't answer. He seemed to be distracted. Or angry.

"Yes, he did," said the other one.

"You weren't there when I tried, Charlie."

"She's here, isn't she? And you George—"

"I didn't help you, okay lady?" the George fellow snapped. "My brother here with his smart ponytail did!"

There was an uncomfortable silence. From a couple of blocks down, a dog started yapping.

"Well," Ivy said to the one called Charlie, "thank you."

He nodded. "I got to get the two of you out of here. That level of dementor attack probably means you're hungry." He patted his brother's shoulder. "I'll just go get your wand."

The two watched Charlie disappear into the dark house.

"So," began George, "what were you doing here?"

"Visiting a friend," replied Ivy. "At least, I thought I was. Guess she doesn't live here anymore."

Charlie reappeared at the back door. "Got it!" He handed the wand back to his brother. "So, we got everything? How about Hogsmeade for some late dinner?" He looked at Ivy.

She shrugged. "Hogsmeade sounds… great."

"What, you're bringing her?"

"Can't be responsible for a Muggle fainting at the site of a dementor attack. We'll fix it after she's got some food in."

Ivy raised a shaky hand. "I'm sorry, 'Muggle' is it?"

George snorted disgustedly. "I don't believe this! You actually want to babysit her? Muggles faint from nothing all the time! Let's just toss her in the next train or something."

Charlie crossed his arms. "Shame on you, George. Dad would never want us to treat them like that."

"George? I'm sure Lee's got something cooked—George?"

George was squinting at the house. He stretched out an arm and pointed at the back door. "Charlie, what did you do?"

Ivy followed his gaze and was alarmed to see an array of different colored sparks jumping off the door frame.

"Me? You think _I _did _that_? It looks more like your style than mine!"

"Why don't you ask her?" George pointed at Ivy with his wand. "It's _her _house!"

Ivy raised her hand to object. "This isn't my house."

"What? Whose house is this then?"

At this point, the sparks were making quite a racket. Ivy was fascinated with how similar they looked and sounded like fireworks, only smaller in scale. On the door frame, strange markings glowed in silver.

"This will wake up the neighborhood," Charlie muttered as he surveyed the area with his eyes.

"Don't just stand there then, do something!" George exclaimed.

But just as the long-haired redhead raised his wand, the sparks disappeared. Only the glowing, silver markings remained. It was silent for a while until a hoary wave of light emanated from the markings and into the house with a great _whoosh _sound.

There was another bout of silence which didn't last long though. The sound of voices quickly became apparent. The three stepped up closer to the back door to take a peek and were astounded to find the empty house now fully furnished.

"Well it's obviously a mirage," George pointed out.

"This is what the house used to look like!" Ivy said, excited. She moved closer to the kitchen window. "In fact, I don't think anything's changed!"

Charlie was more fascinated with the markings on the doorframe. He traced it with his fingers. He put them to his nose and sniffed. "Hawthorn," he whispered. "This is incredible! Could it be _Priori Incantatum_—on a door?"

Ivy waved at the two young men. "Look, the kitchen is still yellow and white. And that clunky coffee maker is still there! Oh oh! See that counter? We used to make the most delicious snickerdoodles on that thing!"

Charlie shook his head disbelievingly. "_Priori Incantatum _has never been done on a house before. It's extremely difficult."

George rolled his eyes. "Look, I won't be able to say anything to both of you until I get some food and lager in me."

Suddenly, Ivy gasped. It shook George out of his drunken stupor and aimed his wand at the kitchen window. "What? What is it?"

She pointed at the mirage of an elderly woman with dark brown hair emerging from one side of the kitchen, carrying a blue china bowl. "Aunt Izzy," she whispered.

"Oh for the love of—Charlie?" snapped George, "can we leave now? I swear, my head is spinning."

"No," said Charlie, "the girl's right. We should see what's going on. Somebody cast this spell on this house for a reason. What's going on here must be important."

Aunt Izzy glanced at the doorway that led to the dining room. The soft sound of clinking utensils and plates were heard. "Almost done there, Gavin?" she called.

"Yeah, Mum. That smells good!" The voice that answered sounded young but deep. The owner flitted in and out of view from the kitchen, a young man just freshly into his teens.

"Call your father, then. Soup's ready."

"Dad!"

This time a rotund and jolly-looking man stepped out from the living room.

"Uncle John," smiled Ivy.

"Ready and waitin'!" he brightly said. He was carrying a tea tray and brought it into the kitchen.

"Need help there, Izzy?"

"Yes, please. Just take the salad and the pot roast, dear."

Ivy grinned as she watched the scene before her. She was glad that time didn't change how the Fearnleys were as a family.

"So you know these people?" George suddenly asked.

She had almost forgotten that she was with two wizard strangers. She nodded.

"Then it must've been your presence that triggered the spell," Charlie presumed. "Are they family?"

"No," whispered Ivy, "but they came pretty close."

Four loud cracks suddenly cut through the air. In the kitchen, four cloaked and masked individuals appeared and immediately trudged in the dining room where the Fearnleys sat, preparing to say grace.

"No," George hissed under his breath.

The strangers looked undoubtedly ominous but that was all Ivy knew of them. "What is it?" she asked. "Who are they?"

George and Charlie looked at each other.

"Where is your daughter?" demanded the largest of the masked individuals.

John was on his feet in no time. "Who do you think you are? Barging in my house like this?"

"Don't make us ask you again." The stranger raised his wand, a black gnarly stick as portentous as he was.

There was a long pause. By this time, Ivy had both her feet on the back steps. Although she knew it was a mirage, she felt reluctant to step through, afraid that she might lose the vision.

Suddenly, John launched himself on the man and crashed the rest of his gang against the far wall of the dining area.

"Run!" he bellowed at his family.

Izzy screamed. "John!"

"Dad!"

"Go Gavin! Take your mother!"

The boy hesitated but managed to gather his wits and take his mother by the hand. But they only got as far as the living room when one of the masked men wrangled his way from under the pile up and shouted, "_Incarcerous!"_

Golden glowing ropes spurted out of the caster's wand and wrapped itself around Izzy and Gavin's limbs. Izzy fell into John's favorite chair but Gavin wasn't as fortunate. He fell on the floor, after hitting his head on the corner of the coffee table. Ivy clamped her mouth with her hands in shock.

"What have you done?!" shouted John. The remaining three managed to get him off their backs and into a chair where he was similarly bound.

"Where's the Veritaserum?" the leader asked a stringy cohort.

"Why don't you just tell us where the bitch is, yeah?" asked another to Izzy as he kicked her on her side.

Izzy doubled over in pain. John gave out and angry cry.

"That's enough! Open their mouths!" shouted the leader of the pack.

Ivy watched in horror as they forced John and Izzy's mouths open and poured the clear potion down their throats.

"Now, tell me John," the leader began, his voice much more calm now. "Where is your daughter?"

"I don't know," he blurted out.

The stranger hissed and pulled John's head back with a tug on his hair. "You're his father, John. How can you not know?"

"I haven't seen her for a year. She's been very busy with work. I'd get a telegram from her every month and I just send my answer through the owl."

"How about you, Isabelle? Do you know where your daughter is?"

"No," she sobbed. "In her letters, she mentioned that she's always traveling. The owl always gets our letter to her and hers to us so I was never really worried."

The skinny man snarled. "Do you reckon the boy knows anything?"

"Hardly likely." The leader turned around and ended up facing Ivy. She felt an unnatural chill down her back. "This is a bloody waste of time."

There was another long pause.

"Let's go. We won't get anything here."

"What about the Muggles?"

The stranger raised his wand. "I'll take care of them."

There was a flash of green light and before it faded there was another one. And another one.

It was a blinding light. Ivy had to step back and close her eyes. She heard the four cracks again and when she opened her eyes, the strangers were gone and it was the Charlie fellow who now stood on the step. He had his back turned to the scene though and was looking straight at her.

"What is it? What happened?" she asked. She could see the mirage blinking behind him. She knew it was bound to disappear soon.

"Please, let me through."

Charlie shook his head. "I don't think you should."

Ivy's lips trembled. "Why?" She glanced at George who had his gaze on the ground. He looked twice as pale as he did before he fainted.

She pursed her lips and shoved Charlie out of the way. He budged. She couldn't have moved him if he hadn't let her. Perhaps he realized that she had a right to know what she already knew in her heart.

She found John and Izzy, in the living room, still bound. Their lifeless eyes averted to their ceiling, their faces frozen in terror, cold split pea soup curdling at their feet. On the floor, Gavin was no longer breathing.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Charlie and George follow her in. As soon as they did, the mirage blinked its last. Another silver wave ran through the house and it was empty once more.

Ivy waited but there were no tears.


End file.
